


Dig a Thousand Graves

by coverofnight



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 18:49:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15869604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coverofnight/pseuds/coverofnight
Summary: Joan watches Vera sleep.





	Dig a Thousand Graves

The night moves in quickly. Black clouds mask that supreme light in the sky, the one that’s guided me as I wander and obscured the hateful looks of passersby. 

Now, darkness looms and engulfs me in an embrace so familiar that a quiver of emotion settles at the back of my throat. It's been weeks and still the taste of freedom is more arousing than perhaps any fire that's ever roared within me. 

I wander alone, as I have always done, only this time my destination promises the company of another. 

There, I hide in the shadows, just beyond the trees. I adjust the collar of my trench coat. It's only half past nine; Vera must not see me at this hour. 

I hang back and watch her strip the Governor’s facade from her face and shoulders. She unbuttons the blazer, loosens the neck tie, dismantles the bun. Her features visibly soften; her body relaxes. The weight of the job is heavy on her, especially now that she is with child. 

Vera prepares dinner, eats alone, reads a magazine. All the while, her eyes glaze over and her jaw goes slack. Like me, Vera is tired.

Jagged, bloodied fingernails claw into my thigh. I wince at the pain. My hands haven't recovered from the box just yet. Neither have I.

So, I watch Vera because Vera brings solace. Her face, which is as familiar to me as my own, is the only one from before that I can remember in detail. Full lips, gentle blue eyes, furrowing brows. All told, these details saved me from certain death. The images of her in my mind’s eye let me breathe. Calculate. Emerge.

More than that, they let me forget. If I close my eyes for too long, I can still see the dirt slipping through the cracks and Bea Smith's haunting portrait grinning down at me. Thinking of Vera eases the pain of my personal tragedy. It was she who saved me once, after all. When the eyes of my fellow prisoners went cold, it was Vera who willed me to live.

Live I did. And how supremely rewarded I have been. 

The lights go out at eleven. Vera washes up and I edge my way closer to her bedroom window. Blinds hinder my view, but only slightly. The bed is ready for sleep and Vera's already set a glass of water on the nightstand. She steps barefoot into the room, toothbrush poking out of her mouth, and hovers by the nightstand. She checks her alarm clock three times before she's satisfied that it won't betray her in the morning. 

Minutes later, she slips into bed. I watch her toss and turn; she adjusts the pillows and finally curls into a fetal position. Some time passes before her breathing settles into a steadied rhythm and it's then I know I can carry out my nightly ritual.

Slowly, I move to the front of the house. Near the doorbell there's a tiny slot and in it, a key that opens me up to the world inside. I learnt of its location from Mr. Stewart. He proved himself well worth the monetary investment and, in some strange way, has been an agent of my salvation. 

But I am not here for Jake. It is Vera who calls to me.

I push the door open and step over the threshold. I take a breath. Inhale. It smells like home. I secure the front entrance to ensure no harm may come our way and I relax for the first time since last night. My body and mind can finally rest easy. 

I slip my shoes off and step into the kitchen. Quietly, I prepare something simple to eat: biscuits and a small glass of water. I take a seat at Vera’s table.

As I eat, the quiet of the house consumes me. It's safe and sound here. And yet, I know that if Vera were to wake and see me sitting here, that safe quietude would cease to exist. It is me she fears; my mere presence threatens. I wish it weren't so. 

Pushing the thought aside, I devour the small snack before me. It does the job, satiates my hunger.  _ For now. _ For a moment, I allow myself to wonder what Vera might do if she knew how starved I was...and for so many things. Would she fear me? Or help me?

I know the answers to these questions. They live in the very core of my being. They slap me in the face each time I stand cold and shivering outside Vera’s bedroom window. Those answers reach out and grab me by the throat when the smell of home inside this house seeps into my nostrils.

Should Vera ever find me here, my fate would undoubtedly be sealed. No room to beg, to plea, or to apologize. The Governor of Wentworth would have none of that.

Even with this knowledge, I continue to move through the house and into to the living room where Vera’s freshly pressed uniform hangs for tomorrow's work day. My heart gives a small flutter each time I see it and I can't help but put an affectionate hand to the sleeve. 

Tonight, I linger a moment to caress it. My aching, splintered fingertips trail the lines of the uniform. I can barely feel it, but it, too, seems to feel like home. I bring the edge of the sleeve to my face, inhale its scent, take it all in. Against my cheek, the material soothes. All at once, the fleeting touch of my previous existence sets my inner demons quite right. The storm inside calms. Everything is at ease. 

Something akin to nostalgia creeps its way into my heart and I remove a crown from the uniform’s shoulder. I clutch it between my fingers. I don't think I ever want to let go. 

Later, I watch Vera from the bedroom doorway. Small shoulders rise and fall with each breath. Plump lips hang open slightly. Frizzy hair crowns a clammy forehead. She sleeps soundly, as if no care in the world could reach her at this hour. I yearn for deep sleep like this. 

_ I must have a closer look. _

I let my fingers trail the edge of the bed as I move toward her. She stirs, turns over and rests flat on her back. Her nightshirt rises, revealing a belly that has yet to start growing. I can't resist the urge to lay my hand upon it.

Gently, I graze Vera’s belly with my fingers. Inside, there’ll soon be a child. Our child. Were it not for me and my sinister dealings with Mr. Stewart, this child--this gift--might never have been a possibility. The child calls me to greater purpose, to an opportunity to right the things I have gotten so wrong.

Will Jackson would have to dig a thousand graves to keep me from being here. If I must return to Wentworth, Vera and this child will do so, too. 

Again, Vera stirs and I retract my hand. Suddenly, I'm anxious about the time. I must take my leave well before sunrise. A quick look at the clock reveals it is just past midnight. 

_ There's still enough time. _

I slip out of my trench coat and curl up on the floor in the corner of the room. The crown is still in hand.  Sleep comes in waves these days, but so long as I can be near her, it doesn't matter.

By morning, she'll never know I was here in the first place. 


End file.
